This is probably the part where I say I'm not from New York. Or, you know. The US? I googled, but probably still got all the locations out of whack, so ... fun train! Thanks for still reading :D

"Hello, Mrs Parker? I'm sorry to wake you. We haven't actually met before, I'm Virginia Potts. CEO of -"

"I know who you are." May's tone was clipped, not drowsy; she hadn't been sleeping. "How bad is it?"

Pepper looked around the blackened walls, the splintered remains of a desk and office chair. The sadly listing potted plant, shedding its leaves. No blood, that was something. "We've lost his location," she admitted, simply. "We're doing everything we can to find him."

Which had been significantly less than she'd hoped. When the manager had finally appeared, he'd blustered between excuses and apologies, before landing on horror when he'd discovered that the entire week's security feeds had been wiped.

FRIDAY hadn't found any digital fingerprints, which was troubling in and of itself, but that line of enquiry could wait.

"Maybe he's at the apartment," May said briskly, ignoring the admittedly weak assurance. "He's not answering his cell, neither is Ned."

Pepper was intimately familiar with the sound of someone who had done all the hand-wringing they were ever going to do, and skipped the rest of the comforting spiel she'd been rehearsing in her head for the last hour. "Ned - Edward Leeds?" She scanned the data FRIDAY helpfully pulled into the HUD. "His friend from school? You think Ned would know where he is?"

May snorted, as if she'd said something funny. "Ms Potts, I don't have time for this - I'm going to find my kid. You want to do something useful, go ask your fiance's government friends how it is they're picking on children.

"They're not my-" Wait. "Ms Parker, please don't hang up! Peter has an apartment?"

"What are you - he's fifteen years old! Of course he doesn't have an apartment! Do you even listen to yourselves? He's a child."

"Ms Parker, I understand how worried you must be, and that you consider Stark Enterprises is to blame. However, right now, I am all the help you have and, I promise you, that's all I want to do."

Pepper could hear the woman's struggle in the sharply drawn breath and the angry silence that followed it. The desire to tell Pepper to go to hell against situational pragmatism. "It's not you," May conceded, at last, which was far more than Pepper had expected. "It's Stark. And it's Peter. And when we get this mess cleared up, I'm wringing both their necks."

"I have stunners in my armor," Pepper volunteered. "Quicker. Easier on the hands."

"Peter's got Ned minding Ellie over in some foreclosed apartments near the shelter," May said. "I didn't love the idea, but it was better than her being here. Mr Henderson, next door? Man has a glass to the wall, day and night. There's a few places they could be. I'm telling you, nothing lasts longer than six months in that neighborhood. Track Ned's cell."

"I'll call you when I've found him," Pepper promised quickly, and cut the line. "FRIDAY?"

"I've located the cell phone," the AI confirmed. "It's across the street."

She blinked. "Show me."

The HUD flickered to life again, showing a pulsing locator beacon on the top level of an abandoned-looking building half a block up from the offices. No line into the windows from this angle, but the roof was open ground for a good shot with time, and patience.

This hadn't been an opportunistic attack, someone had known where Spider-man was and set a trap accordingly.

Which meant they probably already had the girl.

Unless. Unless they hadn't realized Peter was on that rooftop because he was guarding Elle and his friend. Hiding less than a mile from the shelter was - well, it was insane, but it had worked: no one was looking there. And there was no suggestion there had been a fight there, or any kind of disturbance. FRIDAY confirmed it with a fast play through of the traffic camera footage through the day: nothing more than a near miss between two delivery trucks.

With growing hope, she kicked in the thrusters and flew through destroyed window, towards the beacon.

-o o-

"Cheap bourbon?" Tony studied the bottle that had been planted unceremoniously at his elbow with disdain. "Really? I thought we agreed that any impromptu drinking sessions started between the hours of one and three a.m called for cheap scotch."

Rhodey shrugged and sat on the other stool at the workstation. "Like you can even taste the difference." He blinked blearily at the motherboard-looking thing Tony was working on. It didn't seem to be attached to any suspicious wires, or flashing, so he decided to worry about it later.

"Ross pinkie swore I wasn't under house arrest, so I assume you're here to talk wedding plans. Cushions: silk, or velvet?"

"Your single point of impulse control flew off in her own set of armor, which no one knew she had." Rhodey said, flatly. "You really think they wouldn't want to lock things down a little? And silk, obviously. It's elegant. What are you, Liberace?"

"The armor's part of a humanitarian relief side project: strictly non-lethal and entirely unrelated to the Iron Man series," Tony reeled off like a press packet, and lifted the soldering iron. He was aiming to sound disaffected, but his expression was challenging when he finally looked up. "Although I suppose I should be glad you're here, rather than out there enforcing something. I am wondering how they thought you'd stop me, though. If I actually tried to leave. Historically, that hasn't really worked out for you."

Tony Stark wasn't a hard man to make friends with, but he was almost impossible to stay friends with. At least, for any longer than the length of a party. One hand always trying to pull you close, and the other one already pushing you away.

Maybe, Rhodey thought, he'd only lasted as long as he had because those had been his orders: manage Tony Stark so the brass didn't have to deal with any scandal-shaped hurdles that might get in the way of winning the arms race.

Pepper too, kind of. And Happy.

So, the trick, Rhodey had learned, to staying Tony's friend, was to ignore the hand pushing you away right up until it turned into a fist. Push back and, if you could, trick that livewire Stark brain into jumping a rail and going somewhere a little sunnier.

" Historically you hadn't spent a ton of dough on my medical bills, or kickstarted a whole new neuroengineering department," he said, calmly ignoring the attempt to pick a fight. "I'm going to bet you don't want to be the reason I land in hospital again."

Tony's expression flickered with a peevish kind of annoyance; clearly Rhodey had inadvertently hit a recently exposed nerve. "Is it too much to ask for people to try appealing to my better nature before resorting to emotional blackmail, threats or violence?"

"I did," Rhodey pointed out, unmoved. "Ninety-eight. Sweden."

"Right. The triplets. Okay, point to you, but, in my defense, I don't actually have a better nature."

"Keep telling yourself that. While you sit right there, quietly building whatever the hell it is you're building." Rhodey leaned forward with a frown, as the thing beeped. "Unless it's going to explode."

Tony didn't look down. "Here's the thing."

Silence.

"Use your words," Rhodey suggested, after a few more seconds had passed.

"I'm thinking. Okay." Tony nodded, course plotted. "You said signing the Accords was the right thing to do."

"It was," Rhodey agreed, firmly. "And it still is."

"It was. Then. But now ? I don't know." Now anxiety was transparent under the anger; maybe it always had been. "So where does that put us? Because I've already had one soul destroying fight with someone I considered a friend this year, highly overrated. I don't want one with someone I actually like. Some of the time. Occasionally."

"Two cheers for democracy," Rhodes muttered, and reached for the bourbon, before realizing he hadn't thought to bring glasses.

"I never took you for a Forster fan: 'If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country?' Little on the nose. More Cap's style, don't you think?"

"What sounds noble in theory doesn't always work in practice. We need order. We need loyalty to something more, something better, than ourselves." Because what was the alternative? Everyone out for number one, no greater good? James Rhodes had devoted his life to - broken his body in - the service of his nation, not just part of it. "What could you even do right now that Pepper isn't out there doing?" He tried, striking towards a compromise.

"Ask some searching questions." Tony turned away again, resuming soldering. "Like, if everyone's so set on finding this kid, why haven't there been any pictures of her? Not even from intake? Come on. Like, why does Ross look like he was force-fed a lemon tree? And while we're here, why are S.H.I.E.L.D. still involved? It's an open secret they're the Inhuman railroad, but they haven't been this public since Mace." He glanced up as an ember flared. "Hey, here's the best one yet: why can't FRIDAY find any trace of Elle Iwamura before last month?"

In retrospect, Rhodey wondered if he shouldn't have encouraged a little more wedding planning. It was probably too late to make an argument for satin.

"Well, you can ask pretty much all of that from right here." He frowned and hauled himself to his feet again, looking around the workshop's junk piles for glasses, and determinedly ignoring the sensation of artificial aid. " I'll help."

-o o-

Luke tilted his head back and considered the young woman standing in front him. Her top was hidden under a massive fake fur coat that had seen better nights, but the thigh-high boots just brushing the hem of her glittery silver skirt was a pretty clear indication of her business, given they were standing under a bridge and not outside a nightclub. "How old are you?"

"How old you want me to be?" Her hips swayed as she stalked towards him, blue eyes staring up through her lashes, lips pouting just so.

Luke took a rapid step back, shaking his head. "No sale."

She rolled her eyes and straightened, dropping the pitch and aging a decade in a second, to his relief. Some trick. "If you're planning to talk God at me, you can skip it. Last time I checked, God wasn't paying my bills."

"Spider-man come round this way?"

Her expression changed again, this time filling with a genuine warmth that, disconcertingly, knocked a few years right back off again. "Spider-man ? If he's over sixteen, I'll eat these boots. He's helped me out a couple times when dates got a little too pushy. You'd never think a mask could blush, right?"

"Either way, you seen him lately?"

A small, suspicious frown appeared between her eyebrows. "No."

"I'm not a cop," he tried, raising his hands a little. "I'm a friend - I'm just trying to help him out."

"Then shouldn't you already know where to find him?" She crossed her arms and nodded down the street. "Get out of here - I got people to do."

"People are a lot friendlier in Harlem."

"Uh huh," she nodded, unsympathetically. "Welcome to Queens, buddy."

The sound of the Iron Man series of armor passing overhead wasn't loud in the way jets were loud - it was almost silent, in comparison. The noise came in it's wake: the rattle of windows, the tree branches snapping; the car alarms and dogs barking. He watched the suit land on the roof of an empty-looking building up the block, windows boarded and no light, save a faint glow at the very top.

"Never mind."

"Hey!" The woman stepped forward, one finger pointing. "Don't you hurt him!"

"That is not the plan. I promise. Look." He pulled his last fifty from his pocket. "I got no idea what's about to go down here, so take the rest of the night off, okay?"

She tucked the note into her boot, still looking wary. "Thanks. I hope you really are his friend."

Luke nodded as he turned to follow the suit's path. "Everything I'm hearing, I'd like to be."

-o o-

Colleen's cell rang as they stepped out the cab; Jessica paid while she answered, for once too distracted to complain about the ridiculous fare. Whatever the person on the other end - Danny, probably - had said, caused Colleen to spin where she stood, looking for something. "Danny says he can smell chemicals. Paint - maybe. Hear clanging? It's loud, but muffled."

"Great. Good for him."

Colleen ignored her. "You see any building sites? Maybe auto shops?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jessica waved a demonstrative hand, confident that wherever she pointed, she'd be hitting at least one of those things. "Tell Zoltar we need something else."

"He's doing his best, okay? If someone's taken Spider-man, they'd have to keep him somewhere out the way, right? Easy access, but not public."

Jessica scowled and turned away, because, okay. Fine. Yes. And she should have been the one thinking about that, rather than relying on mystic bullshit. She cricked her neck and re-evaluated. Okay, congratulations, you manage to grab Spider-man - now what, genius?

You take him back to your evil lair? No. New York might consider him their favorite cat rescuer-slash-bag carrier, but if you're kidnapping the guy, you know he's strong, and fast. Dangerous. You need somewhere close, somewhere you won't be disturbed. Somewhere you can control the environment.

Up the street, the train rattled its way over the traffic.

Clanging. Chemicals.

The city had closed a lot of the old depots along the overland. Little buildings, sitting empty. Long gutted, no one interested in what could be inside anymore.

"Danny he thinks it might be-"

"Somewhere on Jamaica. Go Team."

"He can hear people singing. Like a choir, not a band," Colleen clarified, ignoring the sarcasm. "But they're really bad. Drunk. And there's a lot of them. Something about … double features?"

Jessica scowled as she looked around, then back down at her cell as she narrowed her area search again. "Oh, for- come on." She took off at a fast walk in the direction of the local multiplex, conveniently just up the block from a subway station.

-o o-

"HR assures me you have an apartment." Ellison craned his head around the office door. "Have you considered using it?"

"It's only- oh." Karen rubbed at her eyes and, yes, the clock on her computer said a late night had become an early morning. "I'm just-" She frowned. "You're still here."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks."

They both laughed, without much amusement. As far as Karen had been able to glean, if the Bulletin started accepting payment in pie like Murdock & Nelson, it would probably double their income.

"It's the Spider-man thing." She waved a hand at her computer screen. "Every newspaper in the city is calling for his blood, so are the local news stations. Yesterday it was 'Spidey-watch' and trying to figure out if that was a new suit. No one's asking any questions."

"Because press packs with overwhelming evidence of his sudden turn to super-villainy have been pushed along every conceivable channel, all stamped Homeland." Ellison stepped further into the room, framed by the open doorway and a corona of low-illumination economy lights.

"So we're not meant to question it?"

"Of course we are, it's what we do. But right now, it's news and we're running it - we can't afford not to. Literally. But, look. That's what second prints are for. Bring me something that won't get us sued into oblivion, or rushed by an angry mob, and I'll run that too." He hesitated, pulling off his glasses to survey the smudges. "But why?"

"Why?" Karen blinked again. "There's a story here."

"There's a story in city hall, too. There's another one in the courts. Corruption, graft and greed, all those money makers. And you want to do another piece on a costume? You know him too?"

"I don't know the others." She held her hands up in the face of his disbelief. "I don't know the others well," she amended. "And I don't know him at all. I want to know why we've been told to vilify him. I want to know what the truth is. Don't you? What would Ben do?"

Ellison backed away again, drawing the door closed after him. "I think Ben would ask what you intend to do. And tell you to get some sleep."

-o o-

Too close! Way, way too close!

The chair hit the single, naked bulb on the ceiling with a satisfying combination of crunch and shatter, plunging most of the basement into darkness. That left just the row of wall lights along the workbench, and then Peter should have the advantage for at least a few seconds.

He leapt into a high, shadowed corner of the room. Even with his enhanced sight, the place was dim, for Castle it would be- be-

There was a faint, green glow from Castle's position as he fitted something over his head.

"Seriously?" Peter called down, aggrieved. "Night vision? That's cheating!"

Okay, well, maybe if he could figure out a way to make a really bright light that would-

Castle swung the barrel of the Magnum his way, Peter flung himself into the furthest corner, behind a bank of shelving.

"No way out, Bug."

"Spider. Man. Try it. Spiiiiider-maaaan. Points for not calling me an insect, though. Congratulations, you're smarter than The Bugle." He crawled slowly across the dusty floor, barely breathing as Karen tracked Castle's position with a soft red glow. When the man turned away, Peter kicked the shelf and then jumped the next dark corner, wedging himself into it as much as he could.

If he had his web shooters, it would have been over by now, but Castle had stripped them, probably while he'd been knocked out. He looked more closely at the various piles on the bench, electrics, ammo, the jammer of course and the - there!

He gathered himself to leap. And then stopped.

There, on the bench. Right out in the open. With the box Castle had been so helpful in telling him was the jammer and definitely not, for instance, a huge trap.

He shook his head as Castle passed below . "Fool me once, Pun-Pun. Punster? No. It's okay, I'll get it."

"Yeah, you will." Castle spun, the barrel rose again; Peter dropped.

Castle staggered as he was hit up for the world's least-fun shoulder ride; Peter tightened his legs and threw himself into a backwards flip. Castle impacted the wall closest to the door, landing with a grunt. He shook his head slowly as he tried to stand. Stunned, not down, but the goggles had cracked. Castle pulled them off with a frown.

The gun was, somehow, still in his hand, Peter realized, just as the barrel started to come up again. It was unsteady, though - maybe he had a chance. He sprang to the left wall, the ceiling and then the floor in a forward rush he hoped was too random to aim for.

He landed in front of the gun, swept it aside and pulled his fist back.

Castle let the Magnum go without a fight, using the now-free hand to brace himself as the other came up with something that glinted as it left his fingers.

A knife! Peter twisted away, but felt a sharp sting as the blade sliced across his bicep. The suit's protection against impact damage was super good, the rest was a little hit and miss. Hit. In this case.

Run!

He jumped back to his corner - the nice, safe, not actually safe, corner- and pulled his knees to his chest to present a smaller target as Castle climbed to his feet. Maybe if he could lure the man away from the door-

Except, he could see a faint glow around the frame.

"Is there anything down here you haven't rigged to explode, Punny?"

"We done playing hide and seek yet?" Castle stood and picked up the gun without any apparent sense of urgency, retrieved his knife in the same unhurried fashion, apparently confident Peter wouldn't be trying anything up close again.

"We're on the same side," Peter tried. "Kind of. We're side adjacent. Except my side's a lot less murder-ey."

"Where's the kid?"

"I told you, she's somewhere safe, while we find her family."

Castle's head snapped up. "We?"

That would have been a perfect moment, Peter reflected, for someone to kick down the door with a snappy comment before making a dramatic rescue. Sadly, all he got was a near miss as Castle fired into the corner half a second after he'd vacated.

He tried to flip back, reasoning there probably wouldn't be a second shot, but as soon as he moved, something bad-bad-bad flared ahead. No web shooters to pull him away, momentum took him directly into whatever it was.

It felt like the aftermath of the stun grenade, but there was no explosion this time. Instead of flinging him away, it dropped him like a brick with a wave of vertigo and sudden nausea.

He would not throw up in the mask. He would not throw up in the mask.

There was a shotgun in his face.

He might throw up in the mask.

"You're strong," Castle allowed, as he crouched. The barrel didn't move once. "You're fast. Can't fight for shit, and your tactics are a mess. You even had any training, Bug?"

"Thanks? Wait. What-?"

The flare again, this time from the direction of the door. The rigged door. Something thudded against it, shaking the frame hard. Someone was trying to get in.

Castle tilted his head, more thoughtful than concerned. "You got backup, Bug? Door's no friendlier coming in than it is going out."

The door shuddered under another hit; something in the metal creaked alarmingly.

Peter tried to sit up, and abruptly aborted the motion as the barrel dug into his chest. "You have to disarm it!"

"I don't have to do a damn thing except wait."